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“Here. Try it. It’s just salt with herbs.” She lifts her finger, holding it in front of me.
I stare at her. She’s still smiling. Slowly, I take her hand and bring it closer to my mouth. Without removing my gaze, I lick at the tip of her finger, but I can’t focus on the taste. All my attention is glued to Asya’s face. She’s biting her lower lip, looking at me with wide eyes. I take a step forward until our bodies touch. I can feel her chest rising and falling as her breathing quickens. Her free hand comes to land at the small of my back, then slides under the hem of my T-shirt. I can feel the heat of her touch. The urge to grab her, put her over my shoulder, and take her to the nearest bedroom is raging inside of me. Asya’s palm moves up along my spine, and my mind is assaulted with images of her naked under me as I kiss every inch of her body. Just as I’ve been imagining for days. Wrong. So wrong.
I let go of her hand and quickly step back, turning toward the kitchen island. “What else do we need for this lunch?”
I don’t miss the soft sigh as I hear her opening the cupboard behind me. “A bigger pan.”
Asya walks around the kitchen, collecting everything she needs and cutting up the vegetables while my eyes follow her the whole time. I like having her here, in my space, way more than I should. Turning around, she opens the drawer next to me and reaches inside, but her hand falters. I look down and see that there are two different brands of flour.
“It’s the same thing. Just a different manufacturer,” I say.
“I know.” She nods but doesn’t make a move to take one.
For a few moments, I wait to see if she’ll choose, but when I notice a look of frustration on her face, I take her wrist and move her hand toward the package on the left. “How about that one?”
“Thank you,” Asya mumbles, takes out the flour, and walks toward the stove.
She’s mad at me, but it’s better this way. Even if there wasn’t this age gap, we are from two completely different backgrounds. Giving in to temptation and letting something happen between us is out of the question. I’m already treading a thin line, and every day it’s becoming harder to control myself. Sometimes, I wish she’d just call her brother to come and get her, because having her so close all the time, makes me feel like I’m going to combust. Just as often, though, I’m flooded with an urge to find her brother myself . . . and dispose of him before he has an opportunity to take her away from me.
Chapter 14
Clutching the coat around me, I stare at the front door.
I’ve been looking at it for at least an hour. First, for ten straight minutes from the middle of the living room, then I managed two steps toward it and continued staring. It took me an hour of this stare-take-a-step-stare cycle to finally reach it. As I’m grabbing the handle, my hand is shaking. Biting at my lower lip, I open the door and exit the apartment.
Pasha’s place is on the third floor, but since most of the residents use the elevator, the stairwell is vacant. Tiny shuffle at a time, I make my way down the stairs. It’s quite a feat, considering how much my legs are shaking.
Pasha went to a meeting with his pakhan two hours ago, so he should be back soon. I could have waited for him, but I can’t bear this feeling of helplessness anymore. I’ve been hiding in his apartment as if I’m a criminal for more than a month now, and I’ve finally decided I won’t do it a second longer. I’m going to leave the building and take a walk around the block. Alone. It’s three in the afternoon; what could possibly happen? Just a small walk, a completely normal thing, and I’ll go back. I’ve been outside several times with Pasha. I will be okay.
When I make it to the foyer, I wave to the security guy sitting behind his desk and head toward the exit. A big glass sliding door allows me to see people as they pass by on the sidewalk. As I approach the door, a wave of nausea comes over me and gradually becomes worse as I get closer. The door swooshes to the side. I swallow the bile and take the last few steps.
My feet reach the sidewalk. I stop and look up at the sky, feeling the sunrays on my face. It wasn’t that hard.
Someone moves by me, catching my shoulder with their arm. I flinch and look to the side to see an older woman walking away. She rounds the corner and disappears from view. I’m feeling sick to my stomach and my hands and legs are still trembling slightly, but it’s getting better now that I’ve finally crossed the threshold.
Laughter rings out across the street as a group of kids runs inside a building. To the left, there is a grocery store with a lot of people going in and out, so I decide to turn right. I’m almost to the corner when a taxi pulls over just ahead and a man steps out. I stop and watch as he gets a laptop bag from the back seat. He’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a dark gray tie under his unbuttoned coat. My heart thumps at double its normal speed. My breath hitches. The taxi leaves and the man slings the bag’s strap over his shoulder and heads in my direction. I take a step back. Then another one. The man keeps walking, and with each of his steps, my breathing becomes more erratic. I turn around and run.
People. Too many people. They are all looking at me. I crash into someone’s chest. Two hands grab my upper arms, probably just to steady me, but it feels like claws burying into my flesh. I scream and, the moment the hands release me, resume running.
“Did that waitress who’s sleeping with Dushku find anything out?” Roman asks.
“No,” I say. “Apparently, he talked about some confiscated shipment and complained about his wife spending too much money on shoes. But that’s it.”
“I’ve known Dushku for fifteen years. He’s a master schemer and he’s ruthless when it comes to business. But he would never get involved in human trafficking. If there’s a connection here, we’re not seeing it.” He turns to Dimitri. “What about the men you have following Dushku’s son-in-law?”
“Nothing.”
Roman hits the surface of his desk with his palm. “What’s the name of that guy Julian sends to do his errands? Besim?”
“Bekim,” Dimitri says.
“That one. I want Mikhail to have a chat with him. Someone dared to send mercenaries into the Bratva club and kill our men just to silence a seemingly nobody. It means there is a lot at stake. We’ll find out who’s responsible for Yuri’s death, and I will personally slaughter him.”
“What if it was Dushku who orchestrated everything after all?” I ask.
“Then he will die. And it will be neither fast nor pretty. Has the girl staying with you said anything?”
“She said the man who grabbed her didn’t have an accent. The name he gave her was Robert, but that could be a fake.”
